


Walk Off into the Country

by wallmakerrelict



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Fallen Castiel, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-25
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-08 13:13:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallmakerrelict/pseuds/wallmakerrelict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhat to everyone's surprise, they find themselves happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk Off into the Country

**Author's Note:**

> For the [D/C Summer Lovin'](http://www.dc-summerlovin.livejournal.com) exchange on Livejournal. 
> 
> Recipient: [ilfirin-estel](http://www.ilfirin-estel.livejournal.com)
> 
> Prompt: "believe me, the blue sky will smother us"

They were an hour and a half out of town, on a bright deserted highway, when Dean finally admitted that maybe someone ought to take a look at his leg. And even then, Castiel suspected that it had less to do with the pain and risk of infection than it did with the fact that blood was starting to drip on the floor of the Impala. 

Sam was stretched out in the back seat, sleeping off a concussion. Dean was careful not to wake him as he slowly guided the car into the shoulder and let it roll to a stop. Castiel was even more careful when he opened the rear door and shifted Sam's feet to one side so that he could retrieve the first aid kit from under the seat. Sam slept on. 

Dean was limping visibly when he exited the car. He tried to steady himself by putting one hand on the hood, but he soon removed it, shaking it against the heat. The sun was high and the air was still. Already, sweat was beginning to stain Dean's t-shirt and pool under Castiel's collar. 

"How do you stand wearing all that?" Dean asked, gesturing to Cas's four layers – undershirt, collared shirt, suit jacket, and overcoat. "Even one shirt is too much in this heat." As if to demonstrate, Dean wrestled his now-sticky t-shirt over his head and tossed it back through the open door and onto the driver's seat. 

"I'm used to it," Castiel replied. That was a lie. It hadn't bothered him back when he could control every aspect of his vessel at will, but now he was far closer to human than he had once been, and he was miserable under the weight of his clothes. He tried not to think about how quickly his undershirt was becoming soaked with sweat, or how heavy his overcoat suddenly seemed. Or how good it must have felt for Dean, with the glistening sweat on his bare skin evaporating in the dry air and taking the heat with it. He couldn't help but reach out and put his hand flat against Dean's chest, trying to soak up some of the coolness there. 

Then he noticed that Dean was looking down at him with his eyebrows raised and a cocky smirk on his face.

"Shut up," said Castiel, pushing Dean down until he was sitting on the hood of the Impala. Dean just laughed. 

Castiel knelt, removed Dean's boot, and rolled up Dean's pant leg. It took some time, since the cloth was stuck pretty firmly to the drying blood underneath. Dean didn't make a sound, even when Cas was forced to re-open part of the wound, making the blood flow fresh again. 

"Stitches?" Dean guessed, resigned. 

Castiel probed at the gash that ran from the back of Dean's calf around to the side of his ankle. It was ugly and jagged, but not particularly deep. "No," he said, "It just needs to be cleaned out and bandaged. You'll be fine." 

"Psh," Dean laughed, "I know I'll be fine. You think I need you to hold my hand like I'm a kid who just skinned his – OW! MOTHERFUCKER!" 

Castiel held up the good-sized chunk of gravel that he had just pulled out of the wound. "You should have let me do this hours ago," he said. 

"Yeah, yeah," Dean admitted, the smile returning to his face as he looked fondly down at Cas. 

After a few minutes with a bottle of water and the cleanest rag he could find, Castiel had managed to clean the worst of the blood and debris off of Dean's leg. He fished through the first aid kit, frowning. "Where is the disinfectant?" he muttered. 

"We're out," said Dean, "Just splash some whiskey on it." 

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dean. "I still question your prioritization of alcohol over basic medical supplies," he said, "Not to mention that what remains in the bottom of that whiskey bottle is no doubt at least ten percent saliva." 

As Castiel checked to make sure the bleeding had slowed to a trickle and began to wrap a gauze bandage around Dean's lower leg, Dean looked down amusedly at the serious expression on Cas's face. "C'mon," Dean said, reaching down to tweak Cas's ear, "Lighten up. It's been a good day." 

Castiel paused, the bandage half-finished, to peer up at Dean incredulously. "We've been on a grueling hunt for the past three days," he reminded Dean, "You and I are sleep-deprived, you and Sam are injured, and all three of us are uncomfortably hot. Why do you consider this a good day?" 

Dean shrugged and smiled as Castiel finished the bandage. "I mean, yeah, things could be better," he said, "But this is the first time in years that the worst we've had to worry about is a few bumps and scrapes. And it used to be that we didn't have time to bitch about the weather because the world was gonna end, like, tomorrow. I think we're so used to being miserable that we can't stop, even when things are really pretty good. Because this?" And here Dean gestured to the two of them, to the car, to Sam, to the road and the sky. "This is good, isn't it?" 

Castiel blinked, struck by the genuine happiness on Dean's face. "Dean," he said, "If you keep talking like that, someone might mistake you for an optimist." 

"Ha-ha," said Dean sarcastically, suddenly looking embarrassed, "Here, gimme your coat."

The change in topic made Castiel hesitate and ask, "Why?"

Dean held out his hand expectantly. "Because you just said that you were too hot, and I need it. Hand it over." 

Castiel obeyed, peeling off his outermost layer and dropping the heavy bundle into Dean's hands. Dean shook it out flat again and arranged it behind him on the hood of the Impala. Then he laid himself slowly back on it, the fabric a barrier between the scorching metal and his bare skin. He only took up half of it. There was plenty of space for one more beside him. 

Castiel took the hint and hopped up onto the hood, lying flat on his back and presenting his face to the sun. At first it overwhelmed his senses – heat radiated into his skin from above and below, and even through his closed eyes his vision was a blinding red. But soon his body became accustomed to the intensity, and he was able to open his eyes. 

The sky stretched from one horizon to the other unbroken by clouds or trees, in a ridiculous shade of blue. It didn't look like it should have been possible for light shining through layers of gases to form a color so heavy and deep. Castiel was momentarily struck with the notion that if he reached far enough up, he would break the bubble of the sky and drown in a waterfall of blue. 

And then Castiel was gripped, so tightly that it was as if he were reliving it, by a memory of being on the other side of that same sky. Peeking through the interrogator's side of the one-way mirror. From up high, the Earth had looked like a fishbowl: contained within its own atmosphere and full of tiny, predictable beings who, though they sometimes turned their faces upwards, could never perceive the vastness beyond their terrarium. 

Back then, Anna had said, "I wonder what it looks like from the other side."

Castiel had imagined the globe rotated one hundred and eighty degrees on its axis and replied, uncomprehending, "We've seen it from the other side." 

Anna had just smiled and said, "That's not what I mean."

How could Castiel have known then that Anna had meant that she wanted to see it from the inside? To see the fishbowl inverted over her? To leave the violet cities of Heaven and live under a sky like this, which had looked so small from above but now was vast and blue enough that it threatened to smother everything beneath it?

And how could Castiel have known that she had been right?

Castiel let his head turn, and found Dean watching him. "Good?" Dean murmured. 

"Yes," Castiel whispered, "This is good." 

Dean only let the moment linger for so long before he smirked and rolled on top of Castiel, tearing his suit jacket open. "I still can't believe you're wearing all this," he said, "You must be roasting. Here." Castiel didn't resist as Dean pulled the jacket out from under him, slipped the tie over his head, and opened his shirt. One by one, his layers dropped into the dust until Dean finally tossed aside his undershirt and Castiel was left lying bare-chested on the bed of his overcoat. 

The heat made them too lazy to make love, but not so lazy that they couldn't kiss deeply and lengthily. They pinned each other down, taking turns being on top, and only occasionally scorched the back of an arm on metal when they rolled too near the edge of the coat.

They only stopped when a scandalized, "Seriously, guys?" came from the back seat. Sam was squinting through the windshield and wiping his sweat-soaked bangs out of his face. "If you're gonna fuck, at least leave the A/C on so I don't die in here!" 

Castiel pulled his hand out of Dean's pants and Dean disentangled his fingers from Castiel's hair. They rolled off the hood and upright, panting and grinning sheepishly. Dean retrieved his t-shirt from the driver's seat, but when Castiel tried to pick his clothes up out of the dust Dean stopped him. "Dude, you're not an angel anymore. You don't always have to look like you're on your way to Sunday sermon. Take this." And he tossed Cas one of his own spare shirts. 

It took a moment for Castiel to wrestle the t-shirt over his head, but once it was in place he had to admit that it was far more comfortable than his old suit. The logo on the front was mysterious to Castiel, but the fabric smelled like Dean. "Thank you," he said. 

Dean rolled Castiel's suit up into a ball and tossed it into the trunk – all except for the overcoat, which he handed back to Cas. 

Back in the car, the sun was hidden by the roof and the sky only extended from the horizon to the top of the windshield. But the wind whipped through the windows, adding to the refreshing coolness of the air conditioning, and Dean was smiling and driving with just two fingers, and Sam was rubbing his eyes and sitting upright, and Castiel's coat was folded on the dash ready to be worn again as soon as the weather called for it. 

And it was good.


End file.
